Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  He also liked the confidence building of the second week, the seamanship classes of the third, and weapons training of the fourth. Until entering boot camp, he had never seen an M1 Garand, a .30 caliber semi-automatic rifle that was standard issue throughout the war. On Monday afternoon, he fired one for the first time.

  Ron liked other things as well, such as the three black men he saw near the front of the mess line. Quiet, dignified, and no doubt dedicated, they were the proud legacy of a group of enlisted men who had passed through this facility just fifteen months earlier.

  Known as the Golden Thirteen, those men had challenged the established order at Great Lakes and paved the way for integration. In March 1944, the pioneers became the first African Americans to complete officer training in the Navy.

  Ron cared less for his chief petty officer, a bulldog of a man who often shouted in the middle of the night and reminded his "girls" of their glaring deficiencies. After ten hours of marching, exercising, scrubbing clothes, and holding a rifle over his head, Ron just wanted to sleep. He missed quality sleep like retired performers missed the spotlight.

  He also missed his family. Though he knew that leaving home for several weeks was nothing like leaving home for several years, he did not find that knowledge comforting. He missed his wife and the precious daughter who was already beginning to fade in his mind. He even missed his wisecracking brother-in-law and looked forward to the day they could do more than cook up schemes to leave the Navy and the forties.

  Ron regretted not writing his family more often. In a little more than four weeks, he had mailed just six letters, two postcards, and one parcel — a box of his street clothes, shoes, and other belongings that went out the second day.

  He wanted to write more often. He wanted to put more in his letters. He knew that Claire and David wanted and needed useful information at this critical time.

  The problem was that he could not provide such information. Nor could they provide useful information to him. When people planned desertions, border crossings, and escapes to other centuries, they had to express themselves carefully and cryptically. Like Claire and David, Ron had learned to consider every word.

  He did not doubt for a moment that his letters went through censors. For that reason alone, he wrote as little as possible. He knew he would not be able to convey important information until he received his orders in July and had a chance to use a phone.

  Ron mulled over the possibilities of the coming weeks and then returned his attention to his meal, which hadn't improved in five minutes and was starting to get cold. He laughed to himself when Tony brought his hand to his neck in a gagging gesture and signaled his displeasure with dinner. He loved the New Yorker's unbridled honesty.

  Ron finished his meal just as the recruit company commander, a prickly sort with a grating voice, entered the hall and ordered the diners to clear out. He got up from his seat, carried his tray to a bin, and followed eighty others through the door.

  As he did, Ron pondered his evening schedule, the chance to write another letter, and more fun times with the petty officer. He smiled at the thought of that.

  He had four more weeks in this place — four more weeks. It was time, he thought, to look forward and not backward. It was time to seek the end of the tunnel.

  CHAPTER 37: DAVID

  Chattanooga, Tennessee – Friday, June 15, 1945

  Two minutes after checking in with Delores Simpson, the chatty receptionist of the law firm of Anderson, Maine, and Galloway, David walked down a long hallway, entered the last room on the right, and greeted the boss. He hoped their meeting would be more pleasant and productive than one at a construction site two hours earlier.

  "Delores said you wished to see me," David said.

  "I do," Carter Galloway said. "It's nothing serious. I just want to discuss a few things before you start your weekend. Take a seat."

  David did as instructed. He walked to a chair in front of Carter's desk, sat down, and lowered his empty satchel to the hardwood floor.

  "What do you want to talk about?" David asked.

  "Let's start with Ron," Carter said. "Have you heard from him this week?"

  "We received a letter yesterday."

  "How is he doing?"

  "He's doing well," David said. "He said he actually likes camp, even though he hates the food and wishes he could get more sleep. He's struggling with that part."

  Carter laughed.

  "He sounds like my brother."

  "He sounds like a lot of people. He's looking forward to graduating."

  David didn't add that Ron was also looking forward to deserting the Navy, hiding out in Mexico, and reconnecting with a globetrotting couple from Los Angeles. He figured that Carter Galloway, like everyone else, could read the details in a newspaper.

  "How is your sister?" Carter asked.

  "She's doing all right. She's managing quite well, in fact, but like Ron she's looking forward to getting on with her life. Claire doesn't like all this uncertainty."

  "Has Ron received his orders?"

  David shook his head.

  "He won't know where he's going until at least the first of July. He suspects the Navy will send him to San Diego or San Francisco, but he doesn't know for sure."

  "That makes sense," Carter said. "There is still a war in the Pacific."

  David leaned forward.

  "What else do you want to talk about?"

  Carter leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands.

  "I want to talk about you. I want to see how your job is going. We haven't talked much since Monday's staff meeting or even Hannah's party."

  David carefully considered his reply. He did have some concerns about his new job, but he didn't necessarily want to air them all. He was grateful for the chance to do something productive at a time when all Americans were expected to pull their weight.

  "I'm enjoying the work," David said. "I'm enjoying it a lot. I admit I don't like delivering divorce papers, but I like most of the other things I do."

  Carter chuckled.

  "Did you deliver the Benson papers?"

  David nodded.

  "I saw Mr. Benson at three. He was upset."

  "I imagine so," Carter said. "How about the rest of your duties? Do you like visiting the folks at the courthouse? Have you learned anything?"

  "I have," David said. "I really have. Among other things, I've learned how the law affects average people. I didn’t learn anything like that in high school or college."

  "Neither did I."

  "As I said, I like most of what I'm doing. I appreciate the opportunity to get out and about. I wasn't sure how I would spend the summer after Ron entered the Navy."

  "Well, now you do," Carter said. "For what it's worth, I think you've been doing a fine job. I've heard nothing but good things about you from the folks at the courthouse."

  David laughed.

  "Are you talking about Betty and Barbara?"

  Carter smiled.

  "I'm talking about a lot of people, including Betty and Barbara. They all seem to like you and like working with you. Most say you are very professional and courteous."

  David chuckled.

  "Are you saying I'm giving the firm a good name?"

  Carter folded his hands on the desk.

  "I'm saying you're doing a heck of a lot better than the last guy."

  David smiled.

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  "You should."

  "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

  "No," Carter said. "I'm done talking."

  "Then I'll take off. I know you have a reception to attend."

  The courier got up from his chair.

  "David?"

  "Yes?"

  "Before you go, I'd like to give you something."

  "OK."

  Carter opened his center drawer, pulled out an envelope, and rose from his chair. He handed the envelope to his court runner.

  "This is
a little token from the partners."

  David took the envelope from Carter and opened it. When he saw two one-hundred-dollar bills tucked inside, he shook his head and looked at his boss.

  "I can't take this. That's more than I make in a week."

  "It's more than you make in two weeks, but you're worth it," Carter said. "The others and I would like to keep you around. If this helps make that happen, then so be it."

  David tucked the money in a pocket.

  "Thank you."

  The men shook hands.

  "You're welcome," Carter said. "Spend it on something you don't need."

  David laughed.

  "I'll try."

  "I have something else for you too."

  "Oh?"

  Carter pulled some tickets from his vest pocket. He stepped around his desk, met David in front, and handed him the slips.

  "These are four tickets to a Lookouts game. Claire told me that you're a big baseball fan and haven't been to a game since you came to town."

  "I haven't," David said. "It's on my list of things to do."

  "Then use these to shorten that list."

  "Thank you again."

  "You're welcome again," Carter said. He took a breath. "I know how tough the past few weeks have been on your family, so I want you to do something fun. Take Claire and Hannah to the stadium. Find yourself a date. Enjoy the summer while you can."

  David looked at the lawyer with new admiration.

  "OK, Carter. I will."

  CHAPTER 38: CLAIRE

  Wednesday, June 20, 1945

  Sitting on her sofa at ten past ten, Claire opened the morning newspaper and tried to learn a little about the world. She didn't get far. When she heard the back door open and two souls giggle their way through the kitchen, she knew the world would have to wait.

  Claire gazed at the girls at the edge of the living room, waved at both, and smiled. Separately, the blond, blue-eyed Chattanooga belles were a treat for any eyes. Together, the neighbors, best buddies, and kindred spirits were a poster in the making.

  "I should get my camera," Claire said.

  Margaret laughed.

  "If you do, you better hurry. I think she's ready to go."

  Claire smiled at Hannah.

  "Are you ready? Are you ready to come to Mama?"

  Hannah squealed and stamped her feet as Margaret, kneeling, contained the standing toddler like a ring manager restraining a prizefighter. She was clearly ready to go.

  "Should I cut her loose?" Margaret asked.

  Claire nodded.

  "I need a mommy moment."

  "OK."

  Margaret whispered something in Hannah's ear that made the girl giggle. Then she pulled her hands from the toddler's sides and watched her race across the hardwood floor.

  Claire laughed as Hannah rushed into her open arms.

  "I have a sprinter!"

  Margaret beamed.

  "She's amazing. She couldn't even walk in April."

  Claire lifted Hannah high, kissed her forehead, and lowered her onto her lap. Then she turned to Margaret and motioned with an arm.

  "Come join us," Claire said. "You have time, don't you?"

  "I do now," Margaret said. She smiled and took a seat on the sofa. "Now that school is out, I have all the time in the world."

  Claire settled into one end of the couch, wrapped her arms around Hannah, and gazed at a woman she admired and respected. She had no doubt whatsoever that Margaret Doyle, a world-class babysitter, would someday make a world-class mother.

  "Did you two have fun on the patio?" Claire asked.

  "I did," Margaret said. "I can't believe how much Hannah has progressed in the past few weeks. It's like she's a different child."

  "She is a different child."

  "So it appears."

  "Would you like some coffee?" Claire asked.

  Margaret shook her head.

  "No, thank you. I had plenty before I left the house."

  "OK."

  "I would like some conversation though. I haven't been much of a friend the last two weeks and would like to catch up with my neighbors."

  "Sounds good to me," Claire said. "What should we talk about?"

  Margaret straightened her white floral summer dress and pivoted slightly toward the others. Then she took a breath and smiled.

  "How about Ron? How is he doing? I asked David the other day and he didn't give me much of an answer. He just said Ron was enjoying boot camp and making friends."

  "Then you know what we know," Claire said. "To be perfectly honest, Ron hasn't shared much with us. He sends us snippets when he sends anything at all. I know he hates the food and likes his classes. He also likes the men in his company, especially his bunkmate."

  Margaret smiled warmly.

  "That's good to hear. I was afraid his experience might be a bad one. It comforts me to know he is doing well."

  "Thank you," Claire said.

  Margaret waved to Hannah with her fingers until she broke into a giggle. Then she paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, and turned again to Claire.

  "What will you do when Ron gets out?"

  "We're not sure."

  "What do you mean?"

  Claire sighed. How did she answer a question like that? As much as she wanted to share the truth with her friend, she knew she could not. She could not tell Margaret about great escapes or time tunnels or 2017. She could not tell her they would soon part forever.

  "I mean we'll do what Ron asks us to do," Claire said. "If he wants us to drive to Chicago for his graduation, we'll do that. If he wants us to go to San Diego or San Francisco, where he will likely be stationed, we'll do that instead. Then we'll decide whether to stay in California, come back to Chattanooga, or do something else."

  Margaret frowned.

  "Your situation sounds tenuous."

  Claire nodded.

  "It's very tenuous."

  Margaret put her hand on Claire's.

  "I admire you."

  "Why?" Claire asked. "I've done nothing special."

  "Of course you have. You've managed to keep your spirits despite challenges that would break most people. I admire that."

  "You haven't done so bad yourself."

  Margaret pulled her hand and smiled sadly.

  "I suppose I haven't."

  "There is no 'suppose' about it," Claire said. "Despite my recent troubles, I've had a great life. I had a wonderful childhood with wonderful parents and even a wonderful brother. Don't tell David I said that though. I don't want to inflate his ego."

  Margaret laughed.

  "I won't."

  Claire smiled.

  "Thank you."

  Margaret looked at Hannah, gave her another playful wave, and then turned to face the window. She gazed at the street beyond in a way that seemed both optimistic and sad.

  "What was it like?"

  "What was what like?" Claire asked.

  Margaret took a breath.

  "What was it like growing up in an intact family?"

  Claire paused before answering. She forced herself to remember that in her new life, she had come of age in California in the 1920s and not in Colorado in the 1990s and 2000s. She proceeded cautiously.

  "It was nice," Claire said. "My parents gave me a lot of love and support and even a lot of freedom. They believed that failure was the best teacher, so they let David and me fail a lot. They wanted us to be strong, independent adults."

  "It looks like they succeeded," Margaret said.

  "I think so."

  "What was David like as a child?"

  Once again, Claire thought the matter over. It was one thing to create her childhood. It was another to manufacture David's. So instead of making something up, she went with the truth. She knew there were several things she could say that would fly in any era.

  "He was different," Claire said. "Don't get me wrong. He did all the boy things, like play baseball and basketball and collect trading
cards, but he was different than most of his peers. He was kind, for one thing. He did a lot of nice things as a kid."

  Margaret tilted her head.

  "Can you provide some examples?"

  "I'd be happy to," Claire said. "There are a lot to choose from. The one I like most is the time he singlehandedly saved Valentine's Day at his grade school."

  "He saved Valentine's Day?"

  "He did. He saved it by inadvertently shaming school officials. When he was in the sixth grade, school administrators decided to prohibit students from giving each other Valentine's Day cards. They insisted it was unfair that some kids got nice cards while other kids got bad cards or nothing at all."

  Margaret leaned closer to Claire.

  "So what did he do?"

  "He gave every girl in school a card," Claire said. "He obtained a list of the students, bought three hundred identical cards with his own money, and wrote something special on each one. He spent three weeks filling out cards to people he didn't even know and then enlisted the help of friends to distribute them at recess."

  "Did he get in trouble?"

  "No. I'm sure the principals wanted to make an example of him, but they couldn't. When our local newspaper got wind of what David had done, it made him out to be a hero. The school officials quickly backed down and restored the tradition of giving cards."

  "That's good to hear," Margaret said. She smiled. "What else did he do? You said there were other things."

  "There were," Claire said. "One of the nicest things David ever did was take an unpopular girl to a fall homecoming dance."

  "I think you lost me."

  "Then let me explain. When David was a high school senior, some really mean students got together and elected a particularly homely girl as their homecoming queen. They did it as a cruel joke and succeeded in getting some laughs, but they didn't get the last laugh."

  "What do you mean?" Margaret asked.

  "I mean David stepped up," Claire said. "He offered to escort the girl to the dance and insulate her from the ridicule that was waiting. He was a pretty popular student, so his gesture made an impact. He changed a lot of minds and softened a lot of hearts."